In the Long Run

I have one week left to make my decision. Most people would shrug off this choice in a second. Yet, I have been vacillating between action and no action for a couple of weeks.

Here’s my dilemma. About three weeks ago we bundled our telephone, cable, and internet services with a new company. A couple of days later I received this enticing advertisement in the mail from my former phone company. “Just answer nine simple questions, and as a little incentive to make it worth your while, we’ll give you…a FREE cool, creamy and delicious DQ Waffle Bowl Sundae!”

Now, I do enjoy DQ treats. Immensely. So it’s a no-brainer, right? I should get online right now, before my drooling soaks my shirt. But wait. The advertisement includes the following guilt-inducing line:

“You’re a great customer whose loyalty means a lot to us.” (This loyal customer traitorously discontinued her service.)

There is an ID and password to enter a website, and further instruction to complete a survey by September 30, 2007. The fine print says, “We request that the survey be completed by someone in the household who is fully or jointly responsible for making decisions about your household’s telephone, internet and other communications services. Free DQ Waffle Bowl Sundae offer available to online survey participants only.”

Here’s the question then. Given the circumstances, is it dishonest, or demonstrating a lack of integrity to claim the dessert?

Posted by Cyppy at 5:01 PM  4 comments

Big Guy has been at college for two weeks now. Most days it seems like he’s been gone much longer, and we miss him a lot. Every day there are nostalgic reminders that our youngest son no longer lives here:

We have hot water for our morning showers. Big Guy was very clean—those nearly 30- minute showers every day assured that.

Our evening meals are uninterrupted by his cell phone vibrating. Now maybe I’ll be joining the group(ies) interrupting his dinner with a phone call or text message.

There are frozen pizzas and hamburger patties sitting untouched in the freezer. A mother can only hope that his dorm cafeteria serves food to his liking, because I doubt they offer Totino’s there.

The driveway is always empty. The battered ’89 Ranger was supposed to retire in Colorado, but has motored its way to Big Guy on the other side of the Rockies.

The area in front of the television is clear of the PlayStation, X-Box, and Guitar Hero paraphernalia. I bittersweetly miss the mess, and also his friends who congregated downstairs playing the games, watching TV, and visiting. They were good kids. Often loud, and boisterous, but good kids.

There is only one gallon of milk in the refrigerator at a time. Big Guy’s guzzling of moo juice required the purchase of at least 4 gallons per week. Keep swigging the milk, Big Guy—forget the soda pop in the cafeteria and vending machines!

The piano is silent. Big Guy’s playing was often quite dramatic (interpretation: loud) and echoed throughout the house. It was commanding, impressive, and beautiful.

There are no empty microwave popcorn bags on the kitchen counter. I often thought Big Guy left the remnants of his late-night snack there intentionally, even though the wastebasket was a mere 3 feet away. It was kind of our personal friction point, silly and trivial, but ongoing. I refused to throw them away, and I would then write him polite little notes asking him to do so. I think there is a microwave oven in the commons area of his dorm. I wonder who throws the popcorn bag away now.

The lawn is extremely long. Big Guy kept it looking trim and tidy all summer long…we need a new lawnboy!

I can peacefully sleep right through the midnight hour. Although groggy, I was always appreciative that Big Guy very dependably checked in to tell us he was home safely whenever he had been out after we had gone to bed. Now there’s no curfew at college, and will his roommate even care if he’s out late? (Should I have Big Guy check in with me with a phone call…..? Just joking.)

Our house seems empty without him, even though when he lived here, Big Guy was often away for sports, school, and church activities. My husband and I enjoy some of the new peace and quiet, but we definitely miss him. We’re looking forward to Thanksgiving, when Big Guy and his brother will be home. Maybe they’ll throw an X-box or Guitar Hero party, and invite over a bunch of raucous friends. We will not protest a bit.

Posted by Cyppy at 5:57 PM  4 comments

I heard a recent news report regarding fortune-telling in Iraq. Apparently a lot of ordinary people in the country are ignoring the Islamic prohibition against soothsaying, and are seeking guidance from psychics and fortune-tellers. Some Iraquis are turning to charms, stones, and rings to guard against bad luck, and others sift through coffee cup dregs to predict the future.

Obviously these people are living in crisis, and the intense desire for some certainty in their lives must motivate them to try these options. Yet I am a little bewildered that these highly religious people do not turn to the tenets of their faith for the strength, hope, and comfort that can sustain them through their trials.

I thought about the challenges and uncertainties facing my family and friends at this time. Will my son, the new dad-lawyer, pass his bar exam, and find meaningful and personally satisfying employment? Will my daughter adjust to a new life thousands of miles away from family and friends? How will my younger two sons fare as they navigate the complex intellectual, social, and emotional waters at a large university? What can my husband and I do to make our transition to life as “empty-nesters” as comfortable as possible? Will my parents be able to cope with the demands and stress of a move to a new city? How can I help some of my friends who are facing serious health problems, relationship trauma, and financial complications?

My answers, or the peace I need when there are no clear answers yet, come from my faith. I trust in the divine assistance and guidance from a much higher power than special stones or rings, or leftover coffee. I find it perplexing that the Iraquis do not do the same.

Posted by Cyppy at 8:58 PM  7 comments

“Double the taxes! Triple the taxes! I’ll make them pay!”

This line from my kids’ Robin Hood cassette story came to mind in the middle of my first spinning class of the new session yesterday. Only it wasn’t taxes I wanted to double and triple. It was the amount of tension or resistance on the class participants’ bikes. Actually it was the resistance on one specific participant’s bike. Let me explain.

I have a petty grudge against a certain man in my town. I know it’s immature, and shows a lack of character, because the guy really did not do anything intentionally to deserve my ire. Yet some extenuating circumstances have resulted in my feeling resentful toward him. The man is oblivious of my tempered rancor.

So when he walked into my cycling class, I was initially caught off guard. How should I act?! Polite, but reserved? Standoffish? Cold? Nasty? Hostile?!

I chose to be devious, and I was quite pleased with my cordial charade. My amicable manner covered my inner disdain as I helped him sign the attendance form and set up his bike. All the while I was wickedly thinking, “He’s going to have the ride of his life.”

As we began the intense aerobic portion of the class, I kept my eye on the man. It wasn’t long before he was sweating, and his pedaling lagged.

“Keep the pace, everyone!” I called out cheerily. “No slackers!” I looked pointedly at my victim, and he struggled to maintain the rapid pedaling pace.

I added more intensity to some of the already challenging elements of the simulated bike ride. “Be sure to work at your own level,” I encouraged, knowing full well that pride would keep him pushing himself hard. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt!” (“Or would we?” I thought maliciously to myself.) I flashed what I imagined was a sweet, benignly innocent smile at the man. He didn’t see it because his head was hanging, and he was toiling with obvious strain and exertion.

I was relentless. Even though it was the first day back after a long break, I subjected the whole class to a grueling regimen of exhausting accelerations, laborious hill climbs, strenuous sprints, and lengthy out-of-the saddle intervals.

He didn’t stay for the whole class. Red-faced and perspiration-soaked, the man put his bike away before I could subject him to the last 15 minutes of killer abdominal exercises. But, on his way out, he thanked me. Hmmm. Maybe I’m not such a bad character after all if the victim of my sweet revenge is grateful for the experience.

Posted by Cyppy at 7:59 PM  4 comments